


Beneath The Helmet

by ShadowedSword13



Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Study, Deal With It, Dog Tags, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Green Tea is a thing, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Knifeplay, Loss, Not Beta Read, Rage, Six is a CQC, Six is a Savage, Spartans Have Feelings, Spartans Should Laugh Too, The Author Regrets Everything, Violence, just read it, slice of life?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:11:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedSword13/pseuds/ShadowedSword13
Summary: No one really knows what's underneath Six's helmet.But a lazy afternoon and a few days to rest might just change that, and the rest of Noble's perspective on the ex-wetworker/LoneWolf.-Also takes a stab at going through Six's emotions through the campaign of Reach.
Relationships: Kat-B320 | Noble Two/Noble Six | SPARTAN-B312
Comments: 4
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter One

Coffee or Tea?

It wasn’t unusual for Six to be the only person in the team room at this hour. Or at least, not this week, given how lazy the Covenant were being. It wasn’t anything special, like them calling off the invasion of the planet or providing a truce, but it was a lull and that was enough for the others on Noble team to relax.

More or less relax.

Six stretched, leaning back in his chair as he listened to the muscles in his arms stretch and the bones in his neck pop. He hummed softly, shifting for a moment before checking the room one last time. He knew everyone’s routine at this point for a lax day.

Jun and Carter usually went to the range to talk and catch up. Jun liked getting the practice in and Carter liked to talk about team maneuvers while Jun shot. Kat sometimes accompanied them, and if the DMR she’d been carrying this morning was any indication, she was with them now.

Jorge was in the maintenance bay, helping out on retrofitting a gauss cannon to a warthog. The man was practically a mobile crane, so the techs there never said no to his help.

Emelie was a bit more difficult to track, but given it was a bit warmer, and the sun was out, there was a solid chance that the man was relaxing somewhere in the sun. No doubt sharpening one of the deadly blades he carried on him at all time, but relaxing still.

All of those things had left Six with a fairly open schedule, and more than enough time to indulge in one of his favorite past times. It was a fragment of a memory, just barely there between the training and his childhood, but he could just barely remember his mother’s hands, cradling a ceramic cup to his lips, a tea bag floating lazily under the surface of the water.

Hot tea was Six’s guilty pleasure.

Not an often guilty pleasure, but a guilty pleasure all the same.

He eased out of the chair, feeling his bones protest that activity after he’d spent the last five lounging. Not that it was his fault it took that long to peer through the base’s cameras and check on his team. The cabinets were stocked, and they managed to keep some replica ceramic mugs, not quite original, definitely not clay, but the polymer felt similar and they fit in Six’s hands well enough that he didn’t complain as he pulled out one he liked and the box of assorted teas.

He glanced at the door one more time, tapping his foot for a fraction of a second before he decided to just commit. He reached up, helmet locks disengaging as he slide it off his face and tossed it onto the table by his chair.

Kettle…..

Where did they keep a kettle in this dump?

Six hummed to himself, fingers idly shifting through the box of teas as his eyes wandered the small kitchenette shelf. He spotted the kettle a moment later, as his fingers landed on a tea that smelled particularly good, and judging by the packet texture, newer than that rest. He fetched the kettle, filled it and set it on the stove eyelet before pulling out the tea bag. Ginger. Hm.

That was one he hadn’t tried in years.

Maybe he’d like it this time?

He didn’t commit to it, pulling out a breakfast tea just in case the ginger sucked, before putting the teas away. He stood by the kettle, eyes closed and listening to it start to boil. He poured himself a cup, dunking the ginger tea bag into it and carrying the kettle, and his other tea back with him just in case.

He eased into the chair, humming softly to himself as he watched the steam trailed off his cup and into the air.

The door cracking open ripped him from whatever thoughts were crossing his mind, and whatever peace had settled into his bones. He glanced at the door, recognized the dark armor as Emilie’s, but more over recognizing the banter from behind as Kat’s voice.

And…

In all fairness.

He might have overreacted a little to the concept of his team knowing his face.

Just a little.

He threw his tea at Emelie’s head.

The Spartan-III never saw it coming, and the hot tea splashed all over him, turning whatever his joke was going to be into a string of curses as he turned and swatted the cup out of the air and back at Six.

It plinked off his helmet, spinning around and landing somewhere on the floor.

“What the hell Six!” Emelie snarled, “that was hot!”

Six neither answered, nor found himself able to look away, his eyes focused on the person behind Emelie, their dark blue eyes burning into his visor as a fraction of a smile trickled over their face. A prosthetic arm slapped onto Emelie’s shoulder, and the assault specialist pursed his lips and relaxed.

Kat very nearly sauntered into the room around Emelie, casually bending down and picking up the forgotten cup. She joined him at the table, picking up the kettle and filling the cup. She took the other tea bag, the breakfast one Six had taken earlier, and eased it into the hot water.

“So.” She said, and her tone was all but innocent. “I didn’t know our new teammate was a green eyed man.” Six had all of one second to register her comment, another to see Emelie’s head snap from her shit-eating-grin, before back to him. And zero seconds to prepare himself for the man tackling him out of his chair and a near fight for his life to avoid Emelie ripping it off his head.

The whole while he could very distinctly hear Kat’s laughter.


	2. Maintenance

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Two

Maintenance Protocols

“He’s actually not terribly unattractive.”

Six glanced up, pointedly at Kat as he held his cup of tea in his hands. He didn’t have his helmet off, and instead had his gauntlets off, letting the warmth of the tea heat up his fingers. That was another thing he wasn’t sure why he kept from memory. He preferred this as opposed to using his suit systems, a much easier method compared to boiling water, adding a tea bag, and letting the heat bleed through the cup and into his flesh.

“He’s like a pitbull. Just a little bit fugly.”

Six cocked an eyebrow at that, but knew she was just trying to ruffle his feathers. She was good at it, but he was better.

“Nice jawline too.” She was glaring at him, dark blue eyes burning through his visor as her words curled around his ear, teasing him.

He’d found out enough about Noble’s relations to know that she was doing it in part to mess with Carter, but also to tease at the information she’d gleaned from his little miscalculation. There was nothing malicious or sexual about her remark.

That didn’t mean it didn’t make him uncomfortable.

He shifted in his chair, propping his ankle up on the opposite knee as he balanced his tea on his thigh. He cracked his neck, doing his best to ignore her. Emelie was doing an excellent job of that, but he had a knife in his hands, and Six was more than sure that was all he required to zone out of any conversation.

“Six.” Carter’s voice, and as such, something he had to pay attention to.

He cranked his neck up, doing his best to appear interested in the conversation, despite Kat’s best efforts. “Yes sir?”

Carter’s expression shifted, eyes furrowing lightly as he tried to analyze something. His lips quirked, and Six knew enough about body language to know he was thinking just a little too hard, and he was just a little bit more uncomfortable with the situation than he knew he should be. Likely because it was Kat.

Likely because according to file, they had a thing.

“Why don’t you ever take off the helmet? It’s just us in here.”

Six shrugged his shoulders. “Never mattered. In and out of combat so much, the helmet just ended up staying on. Now it’s uncomfortable for people to see me without it.”

“Lone wolf ops?” Kat asked, her tone changing, no longer false flirty, but mischievous and a little know-it-all. “You had a lot of redacted info in your records.”

Six shrugged. “I’m good at what I do.”

Carter grunted, either ignoring that comment or moving past it all together. “So why don’t you take off your helmet now?” He proposed, crossing his arms.

Six stared, wondering idly if his blank expression carried through the helmet. “Because I don’t want to.”

“What’s the benefit.”

“Your confusion.”

Carter let that comment hang in the air for a moment, brow furrowing softly before his lips twitched into a smirk. “What if I order you.”

“Personal orders can be ignored.” Six replied. “And I think we both know you’re not that petty.” About most things. Carter could be extremely petty about who was the last one out of a firefight since leaders in his book were the first one’s in and the last one’s out. But he hated getting called out on it.

“Rugged jaw, smooth shaven. Green eyes, bit like the color mint. Sandy hair, cropped short, but he’s got the sides shaved.” Kat put in suddenly, breaking off whatever tension was developing.

Carter stared at him for a moment longer, then jutted is chin out. “You should do some maintenance on the armor Six. It looks like yours is a bit weathered, might need to clean it properly.”

Six pursed his lips, measuring that advise against his armor. True, it had seen a bit of wear, and true, it did need to properly clean and maintenance, or at least washed off. His greaves had a thin layer of dirt on then, his boots original gray color mutated towards green after stomping through the brush. He had no idea was his back even looked like at this point, but he was willing to bet either brown or black after slipping in the mud the other day.

“I’ll make it happen Commander.” Six growled, pointedly picking up his tea and marching to the sink. He dumped out the beverage and set the cup to the side.

“Now?” Carter prompted.

The alarm saved Six, in a manner of speaking. Whatever conversation forgotten as Noble Team geared up and rushed out. A mission popped up on the HUD, a destination shortly after before their comms lit up.

“Covenant contact out towards communications towers. Noble team, you’re being deployed along with a group of Marines. Get out there, round them up, find out what they’re doing. More importantly, stop them.”

“Yes sir.”

Team issues could wait. Maintenance could wait.

There was blood to spill, people to save, and a war to fight.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_

“Jun, jackal on my ass.” Six growled into the coms, diving over a roadblock as a needle bolt glanced off, lighting up his shield and sending him rolling back behind cover.

“Isn’t as easy as it looks my friend.”

Six rolled his eyes, unlimbering his knife from his thigh holster as he scrounged around on the ground for something else. Rocks. Plants. Mud. Must have rained recently…

He glanced over the roadblock, getting a count of what was out there before plasma fire made him duck again. Three elites, one moving in. Three grunts, two jackals. No hunters. Sniper on top of the building.

“Just get the sniper and I can at least start.” Six snarled. “Just one bullet.”

“Jackal’s can take two you know.”

“You aren’t trying hard enough if they do.”

Six heard the shot the same time he heard Jun’s huff as a response. He didn’t wait for the ‘Clear’ and simply moved, knife in one hand, fist full of mud in the other as he sprang onto the roadblock and dove for the closest elite. The dirt came free before the knife did, and the elite did as a human would, growling and flinching as Six crashed into it, blinded and surprised as Six bore it to the ground.

His knife sliced through the shield, pure force and aggression pushing it through the defense before the blade sunk into soft pliable flesh. Six shoved it forward, twisted it and rolled, using the maneuver to rip the blade out. He let it fall out of his hands, eyes flicking to check on the other contacts.

Three grunts running about like idiots.

Two elites, one behind cover.

Both jackals advancing.

His foot lashed out, catching the knife in the air and slinging it across the courtyard where it stuck in a grunt’s chest. Not the one he was aiming at, but he supposed they were interchangeable.

“Whatcha gonna do without a knife?” Emelie’s murmured through the comms.

“Well I was hoping my team would be nice.” Six replied, picking up a rock and juggling it in his hand for a moment. “But I had a backup plan.”

“Me?” He laughed.

“Not exactly.” Six replied, judging that the rock was a good size. He ducked out of cover once, feinted to the other side, before bursting free in a bee-line to the next elite, a gold one. As expected, it dropped it’s plasma carbine and pulled free it’s energy sword.

Six didn’t really care when he slung the rock as hard as he could into it’s hand, just out of reach of the deadly blade. Plasma smattered against his shield from a grunt, but the noise of his Ai informing him it was low was drowned out by the elite’s howl of pain as it’s finger snapped. Six jumped, putting all the force of his sprint into a drop kick that smashed through the elite’s shield and hopefully ribcage. The two went down together, but Six didn’t linger long.

He rolled off, snatching up the discarded carbine and firing immediately. Three of his shots went wide, but his fourth and fifth took both of the grunts in the head. The jackal’s weathered the plasma bolts behind their shields.

He turned the weapon on the remaining elite, which had taken cover behind a nearby grain container.

“Smooth.” Emelie’s observed. “Need a hand?”

“No. But I’m sure you want to tango.” Six pivoted, focusing on the jackals as his radar updated, letting him know someone was joining the fire. It tagged Emelie the same time he shot the jackal’s hands. They both flinched, shield’s swinging out as Six adjusted. 

Two more plasma bolts met their mark.

Two more aliens’ bodies dropped to the mud.

His radar pinged. The elite was on him.

Too bad Emelie was on the elite.

Six had just enough time to turn and watch as Emelie’s Kukri knife came out, blade flashing in the light before it vanished beneath the dull gray flesh of the alien’s back. The alien stumbled, starting to turn around as Emelie’s foot smashed down on its leg. Bone snapped, but whatever pain was starting to run through the alien’s system vanished when Emelie snapped its neck in a movement Six could only justify calling ‘practiced’.

The Spartan’s stared at each other for just a moment before Emelie asked. “What were you planning on doing if I wasn’t there?”

Six shrugged. “If you weren’t there, I wouldn’t have thrown my knife.”

The skull on Emelie’s mask couldn’t give blank looks, but Six was pretty sure it was doing it’s best to.

“Noble Team.” Carter’s voice filtered through the comms. “Round up. Kat, Jorge and I and finished up on the East side. Jun, how’s your end?”

“Peachy. Let our two favorite murder enthusiasts take care of it. Bodies and blood everywhere. Fun stuff. Nothing too hard to handle.”

“Translation. Jun was too much of a bitch to get his hands dirty.” Emelie sneered.

“Interruption,” Six cut in, “I need a shower.” He glanced down at his armor. Whatever ‘thin’ layer of dirt was on him before, was caked on him now. “Badly.”

There was a pause, and he could see Emelie’s head swivel around before cocking to the side, as if the man hadn’t even given Six’s mud, blood and gore splattered appearance a thought. Then he nodded, humming his agreement.

“Want a bubble bath too mister green tea?” Kat cut in from the comms.

Six pursed his lips and didn’t dignify that with a response. Though he was sorely tempted to. Green tea in a bath was relaxing. Now that he thought about it, he could really get behind that.

“Maybe someone to wash your back while you’re in there? I’m sure one of the boys would be happy to.” Six gritted his teeth, reminding himself it was just playful teasing and he shouldn’t lower himself to it. He’d probably get reassigned. There were other darker tasks that needed to get done behind the lines anyway.

Bite your tongue. It’s just teasing.

“I bet you’d enjoy-“

“Kat.” Six’s tone was cold. The comm went silent, and whatever she’d been about to say vanished. “Don’t offer people up for something you’d much rather do yourself.”

Six noticed Emelie and Jorge’s comms mute the same time he heard Emelie’s raucous laughter as the man bent over, hands on his knees as he laughed. He felt his own lips peel back into the start of a smirk as the man slapped his knee, hooting out his laughter.

Six felt it in his chest, little bubbles of laughter that boiled out of him just a bit before he muted his own comm, joining in Emelie’s laughter with his own quiet chuckles. Emelie straightened up, letting out a huff, but his composure didn’t last long before he snorted and started laughing again.

“You just told her… right in front of Carter’s face!” He laughed again, shaking his head. “You good in my book man.”

Six snorted, shaking his head as he glanced up. Jun was joining them, helmet off, looking a little cross at Six. He glared at him a bit too hard, before taking a seat on the roadblock. Emelie snorted again, chest heaving quickly as the man suppressed soft chuckles.

“Six.” Kat’s voice nearly whispered through the line, and it took Six a fraction of a second to recognize it was a private channel. “In your dreams.” And it didn’t take much reading into her tone for him to know they both thought that response was weak.

“Nightmares can be dreams too.” He replied.

He heard her snarl, but the rest of her reaction was cut off as she cut the channel and a Pelican wheeled into the clearing just a little too hot to be regulation. It pivoted, setting down hurriedly before the drop doors swung open. Six saw the teal armor marching out, recognized the anger in her walk, the shift of her petite hips as he walked up.

But she had an edge. Mechanical arms didn’t have the same tells as biological. And Six was caught completely off guard when it came around and smashed into his face. He hit the dirt, head ringing, mind reeling, and more than aware of Emelie’s laughter and Carter’s soft chuckle over the comms.

Six groaned, wedging an arm under himself as he rolled his tongue around in his mouth, tasting blood. He swallowed it, turning to glare at Kat. She matched his expression in body language, arms cross, hips cocked, the ideal expression of sass and badass. Then her stance softened slightly, and she held out her hand to him, the human one. He took it, and she hauled him back to his feet, neither of their visors betraying any emotion as a new private channel linked the two of them.

The line was silent, and then abruptly it cut off as Kat turned and walked back into the Pelican. Six blinked, shaking his head a little as he tried and failed to process exactly what had just happened.

“Dude. I think she might have been a bit flustered out of that.” Emelie muttered, clapping Six on the back and escorting him in.

Six cued a private channel before replying. “Carter never flirted with her?”

“We’re Spartans. Flirting isn’t’ exactly our forte. Flirting with death. Yes. Flirting with people. No.” Emelie replied, dropping into a seat across from Carter. Neither of them seemed interesting in talking, and Carter looked notably a little uncomfortable. Six decided to ignore that, taking the seat beside Emelie as the Pelican powered up. Kat must have been piloting, since Jun and Jorge were present in the corners.

“Flirting isn’t that hard.” Six countered softly, leaning his head back against the wall.

“It is when our hormones are suppressed, our bodies enhanced, and the only thing on our mind is war.” Emelie shot back.

“Must be the green tea then.” And Emelie either didn’t have a response to that or let the topic drop all together.

The ride back was quaint, and Carter did his best to fill the silence with an After-Action Report, (AAR), but when he finished, there wasn’t a lot of conversation, just normal Spartan tinkering and habits. Emelie produced the Kukri and a sharpening stone, Jun seemed interesting in something on his rifle, and Jorge was humming to himself, eyes combing the ship cabin thoughtfully.

It wasn’t a surprise when Carter asked for a private channel, and the fact that he’d bothered to request it instead of doing it meant it was likely something personal. Six accepted it, leaning back in his chair as his Commander did the same.

“Six.”

“Yes sir.” Carter shifted, adopted the same position Six was, his head tilted back against the wall, eyes focused but drifting.

“I appreciate the banter.”

That was a little surprising. “And your thoughts on its target?”

Carter visibly shrugged. “Uncomfortable. But in the past. Kat and I had a thing. But Noble team has… been added and subtracted from. We both decided not to go down that path.”

“I wasn’t planning on-“

“Point being.” Carter cut him off sharply, “I appreciate the banter. But be careful with the flirting. Catherine is a wicked woman, and there isn’t anyone I’d rather have covering my back.”

“Wasn’t flirting.” Six replied. “Just banter.”

“Then I’ve nothing to warn you about.”

“No sir.”

The channel was silent, but there was something in it that kept Six from killing it and returning to his own silence. He was proved right a moment later as Carter sighed, low and soft.

“She’s a hell of a woman.”

“I have a feeling she’d have no issues breaking my face.” Six replied.

Carter snorted as the Pelican’s engines whining down, engines shifting as they started descending. “You would be right on that count.” Six idly wondered if he was speaking from experience.

The Pelican landed, and Noble disembarked. The debrief was over, and Six didn’t have any weapons on him to clean. Whatever he had had been lost somewhere in the firefight over the course of events. He was sure someone had picked it up. And if not, then he’d used it all up, apart from a DMR which he’d broken putting the stock through a jackal’s midsection.

Noble team had individual rooms, and Six was ever so grateful for that was the case, and while each room had a sink, it didn’t have a shower. Six didn’t really care, he managed. Managed by changing, putting on a small mask and a hat, and walking all the way to the Hell jumper quarters that were around the corner, but still.

He liked his privacy.

He showered and changed, musing to himself that his hair was starting to lengthen. He’d have to reshave the sides soon, or else it would start to look all the same length. He tucked that information into the back of his head as he walked out of the shower, ignoring a Hell jumper walking in, expression all confusion as Six passed him wearing his little face disguise.

Once back in his room, the mask came off, the hat stayed on, and he pulled his armor out, but not on. Carter had been right, his armor needed some major maintenance, especially after the firefight today. Plasma burns dotted the arms and legs, it was covered in gunk, and while he knew most of it would wash off, there was some scarring across the metal of the armor that had Six a little concerned.

He sighed, reaching over and detaching one of the gauntlets. From under the bed he pulled out a cleaning kit and set to work on it. He could handle the minor issues easily. Every Spartan could. Major system issues required some maintenance personnel help, and usual were in-armor-calibrations, but Six doubted he’d messed up his armor that bad.

He’d just finished with the gauntlets and was starting on his helmet when the door burst open and Kat strolled in, all cocky swagger as she crossed the threshold. “Alright Six grab your gear we’r….” She trailed off, dark blue eyes flickering over his body before settling on his eyes. “uhh…”

“Close the door.” Six replied, turning his head back to his helmet as he took off the GUNGIR’s face shield, cleaning behind it carefully.

Kat hesitated, lingering for a moment before one hand swatted the door closed with a bang. She stood a bit awkwardly in front of him. Or as awkwardly as a Spartan could, muscles flexed, limbs just a fraction too long, arms just a little too corded and muscular to be comfortably human.

“You’re not going to….” She suggested slowly.

Six’s eyes flicked up to regard her for a moment, green mingling with blue before they returned to his helmet. He flipped the helmet around, checking the back before setting it to the side. “Kill you?” He proposed for her, cocking an eyebrow at her.

She leaned back against the doorway, either to make sure no one else could come in, or because Six didn’t have anything else to lean against in the room. She chewed on her lower lip, some murky emotion lingering in her eyes as they combed his body, settling for just a moment on the towel before rising back up to his face.

“Yes I’m in a towel. You caught me after a shower.”

“I’m dressed, aren’t I?” She replied, sweeping one hand casually across the distinctly military green tank top and black Sofie shorts. Six wasn’t going to comment on her lack of shoes, but then again, around a base Spartans tended to forget things. Taking off armor. Putting on shoes. That most humans couldn’t bench press a tank. Little things.

“And I’m doing maintenance.” Six replied, “so while you’re welcome to oogle, I’d prefer if you did it and helped.”

Kat joined him on the bed a moment later, picking up one of the disassembled greaves and a cloth as she started to work. “So not going to comment on me seeing just about all of you this time?”

Six shrugged, “It’s a fun ruse to keep up. And while it’s something I like to keep private, I figured better you than Jun or Emelie. Neither of them would shut up about it.”

“And the other two?”

“Likely won’t care.” Six reached over, picking up his chest piece from the floor. The GUNGIR chestpiece wasn’t his favorite, but he was also not one to mix and match armor pieces, and he preferred the helmet to some of the other variations. Even if it likely didn’t matter in the case of a headshot, having an extra inch of something between his skull and incoming fire always helped his nerves.

Kat glanced at him, eyebrows furrowing lightly before she sat back, dumping his greave on the floor as she leaned against the bed post. “But you don’t mind me knowing?”

Six shrugged again, setting the armor piece across his knees as he turned his attention to her. “Do you mind knowing?”

She smirked. His eyes were just a little too bright to be real, his jawline just a little too strong and sharp to be human, but if he didn’t look good, she was lying. Like all Spartans, he was striped of that layer of baby fat, and it showed, in his arms, his face, in how everything about him was strong corded muscle. Everything but his eyes and his lips. His skin was pale, just it might have once been a pleasant sort of tan when it had regularly seen the sun. And his hair was might have been a hint darker than the pale sandy color it was now, but Kat decided she liked it the color it was now.

Even if that face was marred by a rippled scar going from the corner of his lip across to his right eye.

“I’m sure knowing my new teammate is more handsome than the rest will keep me on my toes.” She quipped effortlessly. “Even if your towel is preserving your modesty.”

Six snorted, rolling his eyes at her. “Alright whatever.” He cracked his neck as he finished up the chest piece. “I’m doing maintenance. Tell Carter it’ll be cleaned and serviced soon.”

“You’re kicking me out?”

Six cocked an eyebrow. “Well, unless you want to watch me get dressed in a minute. The only piece I need to do now is the back, and the greave you missed.”

She couldn’t argue with that, but there was something odd about seeing him like this and not lingering. It was such a rare experience. She was hoping that it wouldn’t be the only time she saw his face.

She certainly hoped it would be the only time she got to look at that scar.

Six’s lips quirked, eyes flashing again as he seemed to read her mind. “If you’re wondering, it feels the exact same as any other scar. It doesn’t change how I breath, and the medic who stitched it up did a great job of keeping the cartilage intact.

Kat scoffed, even as her check colored, a dusting of pink across her skin. “No- I wasn’t.” She pursed his lips, scowled before slapping Six’s shoulder just hard enough to hurt. “I’ll be back with Emelie in a bit. Carter wants to go over today’s team movements.”

Six hummed, letting her leave with that, shutting the door behind her. He glanced at it, eyes roaming the corners of the door before he reached out, picking up a screwdriver and flicking it across the room. It hit the lock, securing the door and leaving him once again to himself.

“Probably should have done that earlier.” He mused. “But where’s the fun in that?”


	3. Bet

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Three

Bet

Kat hadn’t quite figured out how to place Six’s expressions, especially given the man didn’t take off his helmet much, but she was learning how to read the micro expressions hidden behind his arms, the shifting of his feet or the twitches in his fingers.

Not well always, but she was getting better.

And right now, she could tell that he was pissed.

He’d taken his gauntlet’s off again, and while his left hand was carefully wrapped around a steaming cup of tea, his right was resting on the table. Well, resting for a normal person. She wasn’t sure when, but when Six went still, which his knuckles stopped tapping, his fingers stopped twitching, and his gaze stilled, it was the calm before the storm.

And if Jun didn’t stop talking, he was going to be its target.

“Out of everyone out here!” Jun barked, his attention on Six even as he paced back and forth in front of the other Spartan. “That’s disrespectful to a senior warrant officer.”

Six’s fingers twitched, just once as his fingers flexed, knuckles going white just before they relaxed, easing flat against the table. Kat shivered, casting a glance at Jun as he continued to rage the Six had somehow done something wrong showing **her** his face as opposed to anyone else.

“I mean- what about Carter? He’s your Commander!” Jun turned suddenly, slapping his hands on the table hard enough Six had to lift his tea before it spilled.

Six cocked his head, neither his visor nor his hands betraying any emotion as he met Jun’s gaze with a blank one, which was only enhanced by the gray and white striped faceplate of his GUNGIR helmet.

Jun snarled, sweeping his hands off the table and taking a step towards him. “Just take the damn thing off you child!” He reached for the visor, fingers curling around the plate just as Six’s other hand came up, thumb jabbing against the wrist, casually twisting Jun’s hand away.

“My privacy is my choice.” Six replied, his voice icy calm. “And if I choose to show my face to Kat, then it’s because I trust her to keep that information safe.”

She could see the blood boiling in Jun’s veins as he ripped his hand out of Six’s grasp. The sniper very nearly hissed as he marched away, snatching his helmet off the table. “If you can’t trust us with something as trivial as your face, how an I expect you to have my back when it’s something as important as my life?”

Six seemed to exchange a look with Emelie, but while neither spoke, and the glance was too short for even a two-word conversation, Six seemed to have reached some sort of conclusion from that single glace. “I have your back in a fight because you’re a Spartan and this is war. But I’ll have your head personally because you’re a child that thinks his skills demand my attention and obedience. You’re not my leader. You’re not my CO. And even if you were,” Six sat up, jabbing a finger at Jun. “You still wouldn’t be the boss of me.”

Jun lifted his head, chin jutting out just a little as he swept out of the room. Jun’s anger was easy to read. It was written on his face, in his clenched arms, and it was spoken by how he slammed the metal door hard enough to shake the room. Kat turned her attention back to Six.

He turned to stare at her, or as close to stare as he could with the helmet. Then he sighed, leaning back in the chair.

“Tell me we’re scheduled for a team building exercise that involves friendly sparring.” Six muttered.

“Been pushing that one for years.” Emelie muttered. “Carter seems to think I’d hurt someone.”

“But now I’m here.” Six replied, craning his head back to look at Emelie. “It’d be more or less evenly matched.”

Emelie snorted, dark eyes glinting with something a little dark before he replied. “Oh yeah. For the first three seconds.” He laughed, and Six seemed to share it, chest shaking softly as his fingers gently coiled back around his tea.

“You going to take it off now?” Kat suggested, smiling as he froze, fingers tightening momentarily around the cup, the polymer threatening to crack before he relaxed. He turned his attention to her, one hand reaching up and popping the clasps for the helmet.

“Thinking about it. Someone on my fireteam might need to know what I look like if I get capped.” He replied, thumb pushing the helmet up as he eased it back.

He didn’t push it up far, just enough to free his chin and lips as he leaned back at the table again. The edge of his nose, the hint of the scar that tugged at his lip. He took a sip of his tea, humming softly to himself.

To Emelie’s credit, he didn’t react to the sudden change in Six’s helmet, seeming focused on examining the blade of one of his knives off in the corner. He swung the knife experimentally, sweeping it through the first few forms of what Kat recognized as a basic kata before something built into his movements and he turned the knife on Six.

Or tried to.

Kat didn’t catch the first move of the mock fight, but she caught Six’s chair flipping across the room, one of the legs cut clean through, and could only guess he’d somehow parried with it. He danced back, tea in one hand, and one of his gauntlets in the other. Emelie didn’t seem to care as he advanced, weaving through another kata that had Six ducking and sliding around a series of slashes.

The momentum changed as Emelie stabbed, blade going for Six’s throat. Six ducked under it, empty hand coming up, slapping the arm to the side before he headbutted Emelie, his helmet slipping back onto his head seamlessly as Emelie stumbled back, hand going to his chin.

“Damn.” Emelie hissed, shaking his head. “Thought I had you there.”

Six laughed, and Kat wondered if this had happened before. Six seemed relaxed though, his fingers delicately cradling the mug he held his tea in as he squared back up with Emelie, seeming to have no inclination to drop the beverage. He’d somehow managed to not spill it yet either.

Emelie shifted, shuffling his feet rhythmically as he whipped a second knife out.

“Careful.” Six remarked, “Might cut yourself.” He wiggled his cup. “Or get a face full of hot tea.”

Emelie scowled at that, and Six took that as a moment to attack. He kicked, but Emelie danced back as Six did his best to stomp on the top of Emelie’s foot. Kat watched, amused as she saw the CQC specialist go at each other, each with their own different style. Six was using his legs, keeping distance and his leg armor to fend off the deadly blades of Emelie’s knives. It wasn’t a classical fight by any means, not with Six’s tea in one hand and one gauntlet on.

“Not going to break them up?” Jorge’s voice startled her, but she ignored the urge to flinch, and instead reached back, bionic hand open and expecting as Jorge set a cup of coffee into it. “How’d you know?”

“You always bring coffee when you think someone’s pissed.” She remarked, bringing the cup around and taking a slow mournful sip. Jorge made good coffee.

“Couldn’t tell who pissed off who more. Jun or Six.” Jorge admitted, dropping into a chair on the oppose side of the table. He spared a glance at the subject of their conversation before taking a heavy hit of his own cup of joe. “But I see Emelie has this side settled.”

“You pissed Six let me see his face too?”

Jorge shrugged, adjusting in the chair as he considered the two. “Doesn’t really matter. Would I like to see it, yes. Does it truly matter? No. He’s a man of his word.” He paused a beat. “And in most things, that’s all that matters.”

Six lost the cup of tea when Emelie skewered it, and even though Kat felt like that was a loss on his part, it won him the mock fight when it caught, giving him just enough time to round house Emelie in the chest, sending the other CQC across the room and into a storage cabinet.

Emelie snarled, wedging an arm under himself. “Da-“ His snarl turned into a yelp when the cabinet fell on him, pinning his arm under him and his chest to the ground. He growled, anger flashing in his dark eyes as he craned his neck up to look at Six.

Kat smirked, knowing that the amusement was likely playing out behind Six’s visor as well. It surprised her however when his hands came back up, sliding the helmet fully off his face as he placed it right in front of Emelie’s face.

Emelie swore, free hand slapping against the concrete. “You little tease!” He barked, whipping his head over to look at Kat. He strained, neck muscles bulging, but he couldn’t move his head far enough around to see around the helmet. “Six I’m gonna kill you!”

“I’ll help you up in a minute.” Six replied, already walking away. “Besides, you’re just there for the comedic effect.” He joined them at the table, green eyes seeming to rake over Kat’s face as he sat back down.

“Six.” Jorge greeted, his own eyes examining Six’s face. “Interesting scar.”

Six shrugged, lips quirking somewhere between a frown and a scowl. “More than a scar.”

Jorge nodded, expression apologetic. “You’re right.” He fixed Six with a firm look. “Nice to see you. What makes you trust me with your face?”

Six shrugged and smiled. “I could just be pissing off Jun.”

“You don’t seem the petty type.”

Kat hummed, agree with that sentiment. Six was a lot of things, but she couldn’t see him as petty. Well, not this petty at least. The man could spar with Emelie with a cup of green tea, his folder was more redacted text that readable letters, and he could definitely hold his own in a firefight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t above wearing a disguise to take a shower for some reason.

“I could just be the pretty type.” Six suggested, glancing around the table before his eyes lit upon Kat’s coffee. “I’ll assume that was for me.”

“Lady took it first my friend.” Jorge smiled; lips lost somewhere beneath his mustache. Kat wondered if he ever had not had a mustache. He had since he’d been brought back to Reach and assigned to Noble Team, but there had to be a picture of a clean-shaved Jorge floating around somewhere in ONI’s files.

She’d go digging for one later.

Six’s hand reached across the table, blatantly taking the coffee cup from her hand as he relaxed back in his chair. Kat stared at him, and the expression on her face must have been something, because Jorge chuckled before a withering look made him swallow it.

“Six.”

“Kat.” He replied, coolly meeting her gaze as he sipped his stolen coffee.

“Give it.”

“Make me.” He challenged, easing the cup back onto the table.

“Betting on Kat!” Emelie called from the floor.

“Taking that.” Jorge replied, leaning back in his chair. “Twenty?”

“Nah. Loser cleans the other’s armor next mission!”

Six grinned, running one hand through his air as he shifted in the seat. “Want to take that bet Kat?”

“Is this a new way to get me out of my armor?” She shot back, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Guys.” Emelie interrupted. “I’m all here for a fight. But if this is just about sexual tension, I’d like to leave.” He shifted, and metal started shrieking as he started pulling his body out from under the cabinet.

Six pursed her lips, getting up. He ignored Emelie, who was most of the way out from under the cabinet, evne when he glanced across Six’s face. Six snatched up his helmet, tucking it under his arm as he stared at Kat.

“Alright. Fine. Sparing tomorrow morning, Room C31 in the Gym.” He glanced at Jorge and Emelie. “You boys can come too if you want.”

Kat hummed, smirk already dominating her face. “Rules?”

“First blood. No weapons. No armor. Just skin.” Six challenged.

“We gonna see Six in civvies? “Emelie asked, a grin sliding across the man’s face. “Ah hell yeah.”

“Carter and Jun?” Kat asked.

“Left out of the loop.” Six crossed the room, extending his hand. “Bet?”

Kat stared at him, anxiety bubbling up underneath her outward smirk. Six was a CQC specialist. He had more unconfirmed assassinations than most. She was a scout, a hacker, and quick on her feet, but she wasn’t sure she could last in a fair fight against him.

She grasped his hand with her bionic one, squeezing it under the servos whined and his fingers turned a little purple. “Bet.”


	4. Satisfied

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Four

Satisfied

Six wasn’t fully aware of why he’d challenged Kat to a fist fight bet that he was both sure he could win, and more than sure he would inevitably throw, but he was damn sure he wasn’t going to back out of it.

“You’re more screwed than-“

“Emelie.” Six nearly snarled his name, but he reined the agitation in because wetworkers didn’t show emotion. And even if he didn’t do anymore “wetwork” he still remembered the rules for it. And he had been damn good at it too.

“Just saying.” He replied, leaning back casually against the bleachers.

They’d both arrived early, either by choice or by habit Six couldn’t tell, Spartan’s were a complex mix of military too-early, and half paranoid-could-be-an-ambush-so-screw-you-I’m-here-first even on a good day. And an hour early meant, at least in Six’s book, he was not having a good day. Emelie had given him no response to his invitation to spar, nor did the man look at all interested in doing anything but watching and laughing by the looks of it.

Six swore again, feeling his muscles burn, his bones ache for something to do. He swallowed his emotions, feeling them clump up at his collar and drop into his stomach and explode a like white phosphorous grenade. He huffed, throwing himself off the bleachers and peeling off his shoes and socks. Emelie hadn’t said anything when he’d come in about the thin mask Six had been wearing, nor about the cap, but he did give him a raised eyebrow as Six stripped them off.

“You-“

“Shut it. I know.” Six replied as he stepped onto the mat. His toes crinkled into the fiber, but he ignored it in favor of focusing on everything else.

“Take your shirt off. You can distract her with that.” Emelie suggested.

Six snorted. Shit. She probably had better abs than he did. And physical attributes were practically standard issue with the Spartan program, even for III’s. Granted, the exact definition changed Spartan to Spartan, but the attraction of muscle and abs was a bit overrated, even in Six’s book.

Six settled onto the mat, closing his eyes as he focused on nothing more than his feet on the mat, the air kissing his skin, and the blood pumping through his veins.

‘Go get them tiger.’

Six jerked, eyes snapping open as the ghost of an image, of storm gray eyes and sand colored hair vanished in front of his eyes. Six snarled, but the gym wall didn’t betray anything, and it certainly didn’t conjure up the image that was there in his head.

He knew it was in his head.

That was how things like this always worked.

That didn’t make it any easier to ignore.

“Six?”

“Just a memory.” Six replied, bending down and touching his toes. “Don’t worry about it.”

Emelie shifted on the bleachers, and Six didn’t need to look at him to know the man was unconvinced. It was like someone had manifested the word ‘BULLSHIT’ and puked it into the air. Emelie didn’t ask, and Six was content with that at least.

Six heard the gym doors open a few minutes later, glancing up to see Kat coming in, followed by Jorge, who closed and locked the door.

“We have thirty minutes before Carter and Jun notice we’re all gone.” Kat started. “So, if it’s not over in twenty, we’re calling it a draw.”

“It’ll be over in five.” Six replied, cracking his neck as she stepped onto the mat. She’d forgotten her shoes again.

Six wondered if that was on purpose. The fact that she barely transitioned from walking to throwing a front kick seemed to prove that point.

Six stepped out of range, squaring up as Kat did the same. He’d let her go first, more than happen to rely on his instinct to fend her off. She’d already seen his style, now it was time to see hers.

She fought like a boxer, and her arm helped. It pushed Six back, packed more power into her jabs, and if Six was guessing, it was a hair longer than her other arm. He hadn’t noticed that detail until it slipped through his guard and forced him to back pedal away.

He ducked her next punch, twisting around it and pinning the arm to his chest, levering the elbow back. It would have worked, but it was the wrong arm. Instead of the bones straining, the servos simply reversed, her arm bent backwards, and Six was caught completely off guard as her fist smashed into his face.

He swore, kicking her in the stomach and taking a step back. Hit his nose. He snorted, already feeling blood trickling down his lip and into his mouth. He licked it away, wiping his nose with the back of his hand before he squared back up.

“First blood.” Emelie commented.

Six grunted, the sour feeling in his stomach refusing to lessen as he stared at her. She smiled, all smug and cheer as she shook her limbs out, dark eyes boring into his. Neither moved, and Six recognized that icy stance, the flex of her muscles.

“Not satisfied?” He asked.

“Are you?” She shot back.

“Don’t hurt each other.” Jorge muttered, but it sounded like he was resigned to it.

Six snorted once more as he squared up. Kat did the same, edging slightly closer to him. The playing field was even. He saw her style. She saw his. He knew about her arm. She knew about his past.

“Shit’s about to get nasty.” Emelie smiled, looking the furthest thing from regretful as he leaned forward in his seat.

Kat grinned, dark eyes sparking in amusement as she stepped forward.

Six felt his blood boil, his bones ache for movement.

Six wasn’t sure what set him off.

Whether it was the wild look in her eyes, or the reflection of the snarl of his face in them, but he came at her hard. He lashed out, fists and feet, sharp and heavy as he tested her defense, knowing full and well that this was beyond just a spar.

And she held her own.

She fought back.

They both drew blood. The metal in her arm caught his knuckles wrong, blood spurt, little droplets forgotten as they splattered across her shirt. Six caught her in the jaw, mouth just a little too open and her teeth minced the tip of her tongue. She didn’t falter, matching his intensity like no one else had in years.

Six reveled in it.

In the blood pounding through his veins, reverberating with each punch, kick, elbow, arm bar and twist of the fight. In the hot pain bleeding off his knuckles and the dull ache in his jaw from the first shot. He reveled in the near feral look in her eyes as she fended him off, smile just a little too sharp to be human, eyes just a little too focused to be anything but predatory.

He knew his expression matched.

He knew she didn’t mind.

It wasn’t until a punch caught Six wrong, landing just a little bit too close to his kidney, even as his knee smashed into around the same spot on Kat, did they break away, holding their sides and hissing in pain, the barest threads of consciousness reminding him that this was a spar, not a real fight.

Six grimaced, taking a few more steps back before turning his head to check on Kat. She was bent double, human hand on her side, breathing hard and looking like she was trying not to puke. Six swallowed the bile in his throat, and only then did he recognize the _drip drip drip_ of his own blood on the floor. He’d forgotten she’d caught his nose again.

Kat turned her head, a sly grin on her bloodied lips. “Satisfied yet?”

He stared at her, eyes lingering on the busted lip he’d done somewhere in the last thirty seconds, but definitely not in the first five punches. Her lips were normally a pleasant sort of pink, flush and leaning towards some shade of purple. But now they were definitely red. Blood spread thinly across the skin, leaving Six’s mind drifting in a realm he didn’t really understand.

But.

Damn.

If it wasn’t doing _something_ for him.

“ **What the HELL is going on here!** ”

Six’s head snapped around, green eyes still dazed and confused as he stared at Carter’s flushed and furious face. It was an expression he could distinctly remember not having seen before.

Kat cleared her throat, pointedly spitting onto the floor beyond the mat. Six caught sight of the blood in it, a weird mix of pride and discomfort settling in his gut at the thought that he’d done it. “Friendly spar.”

Carter was fuming, and Six imagined if he was anymore red in the face, there would be a fire. He stared wide-eyed at his commander as the man stared him down.

“Soldier you’ve got-“

“Six.” Six corrected Carter, watching the recognition slowly dawn on Carter’s face. His eyes raked back over Six, then jerked to reexamine Kat.

Six was completely prepared to block the armored punch Carter threw at his face. He ducked it, instinct surpassing even the suit’s reaction speed. He was not prepared to counter the knee that caught his chin and sent him back up, into Carter’s follow up.

The blow sent him to the floor, and Six already knew his nose was broken with the blood left on Carter’s fist.

“Hey!” Emelie barked, rising from the bleacher.

“Sit down!” Carter snarled, jabbing one finger at him. “I don’t give a damn.”

Emelie hesitated, obviously caught between authority and morals. He sat down slowly, but Jorge stood up when he did.

“Carter.” Jorge said. “We were watching. Supervising. It got heated. But it didn’t get ugly.”

Six groaned, hands going to his nose to examine it as he sat back up. An armored punch really sucked. Especially when you were taking it without a helmet. He eased back up, jerking slightly as a hand dropping onto his shoulder.

Kat.

She slapped a small handtowel into his hands. “You’re a mess Six.”

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, his eyes sliding down and sticking on her still blood-red lips. He blinked, realizing his mouth was open, realizing he probably looked like an idiot, but having no idea how to react to anything going on.

Well. Almost anything going on.

He knew there was blood in his mouth now. He was pretty sure he’d bitten his tongue too.

“So, you’re expecting me to be fine with my lieutenant and a rook beating the pulp out of each other?” Carter was no longer a yell, but it was a near thing.

Jorge held up his hands, the face of practiced calm as he extended a hand at Six and Kat. “Do they look that torn up about the spar?”

Carter wheeled on them again, and Six could see the rage burning, flickering behind his eyes before it quenched under Kat’s snort. Whatever rage he’d been holding onto died when Six slapped her leg, and it somehow sent her into a snort and a giggle.

Carter stared at her, mouth sliding open just as Six’s had done earlier.

“Sorry it’s just.” Kat shrugged, glancing at Six before back at Carter. “Oh, you two are both idiots.”

“I’m sorry?” Six and Carter replied at the same time, jerking to look at each other as the words left their lips.

Kat waved it off, then winched as she put a hand to her side. “Damn Six.” She looked at him again, but the smile didn’t waver. “You really didn’t hold back.”

Six was still watching the blood on her lips, the mirth in her eyes, and had barely enough consciousness in the remaining cells in his brain to mutter a, “got carried away,” so he didn’t look like a brain-dead idiot. He wasn’t completely sure he succeeded in retrospect.

“No excuse. You two could have hurt each other. This is still a combat zone.” Carter had lost the ire he had when he first walked in, but with his arms crossed and his scowl firmly set on his face, Six could tell it was military anger that was pumping through his veins and not the heated personal rage from before.

Six grunted, tearing his eyes off Kat as he focused on his commander. “Won’t happen again sir.”

Carter stared at Six, scrutinizing him before he replied. “Make sure it doesn’t.” Then he softened, “Interesting scar you’ve got there.”

“I’m more than just a scar.” Six shot back, the reply reflex.

Carter hummed, glancing once more at Kat, then Jorge and Emelie. “I’ll talk to you two later about this.” He turned on his heels. “See to it those two get to the infirmary to check, and have Six’s nose repaired.” He hesitated by the door. “I uh…. Apologize…. For that…”

“Happens all the time.” Six dismissed it as Carter walked out.

The door swung closed, slamming shut on its hinges before Six looked at Kat, before they both looked at Jorge and Emelie. The laughter was a slow thing. It built in Six’s lungs, little shivers and shakes as his lungs protested it, nostrils flaring before it spilled out of his lips in a soft chuckle.

Kat’s was instantaneous, springing free in little trickles before she clamped her mouth shut, only for it to spill out again in a longer burst.

Emelie’s laughter came in a stutter, jolted bits that he forcefully broke off before giving up all hope and letting it echo through the gym in howls more akin to a wolf than a human throat.

Jorge’s laughter…

Jorge’s laughter filled the room. It didn’t erupt into the silence, or trickle through the other’s laughter. It filled all the spaces in between, encouraging Six’s little chuckles, Kat’s bubbles of giggles, and Emelie’s obnoxious hoots. It was deep and loud and Six could tell it came from his belly by how the man leaned back and let it just roll out of him.

The laughter ended just as oddly as it began.

Short wheezes for breath. The struggle of clenching his own jaw hard and swallowing air until his lungs remembered that laughing wasn’t breathing, and breathing was important.

Six laid on the mat floor, looking at the others in the room and wondering what had changed in the moments before Carter walked in and walked out. It wasn’t anything they’d agreed on. Hell. It wasn’t anything he’d noticed. One moment he’d been throwing full force blows at Kat, the next laughing right beside her and wondering how her lips could look so enchanting covered in blood.

The smile that had taken control of his lips was no doubt part of that spell. But he didn’t feel like fighting it yet.

“Satisfied?” Kat asked.

He glanced at her, confusion crinkling his brow, putting tension across the scar as his nose scrunched. He didn’t like a handful of expressions exactly for that reason, his scar stretched and tightened oddly when it involved his nose, but today, it was worth it.

He stared at her as she walked away, joining Jorge and Emelie at the bleachers, picking up the bag she’d brought with her and pulling out another smaller towel. Emelie nodded at him, winking before jerking his head at Kat.

Six grunted, forcing himself back onto his feet. “I suppose so.” He admitted.


	5. Sweet Dreams

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Five

Weapon

Sweat dripped off his nose, dripping into the air before it spattered onto the floor. Six watched it, focusing on it because it was better than the-

_“Get down!” The explosion rippled through the air, sending him and Gray tumbling through the air. Shield warnings flashed, another pop up that he’d broken his wrist._

_“ S---*” He heard his name, turned just in time to see Gray, dull armor gleaming as a plasma bolt tore through the side._

_“Move!” A second voice, Juliet, grabbed his arm, hauling him up and over the bunker, leaving Gray’s body behind._

_“Gray!”_

Six cleared his throat, forcing his eyes to focus on the door and not the memories his mind was pulling up. Anything but the memories.

He eased off the bed, staring at his room for a long while before turning to face his armor. He had nightmares when he slept in it. Nightmares when he stripped it off and slept unclothed. He supposed in the end it didn’t matter. He pulled off the helmet, flipping it over and over in his hands before he spun it, looking inside.

_‘Stand up. You’re not done yet.’_

The words were etched into the metal, on top of his head and at an angle that made it impossible for him to see, but he always knew it was there. Gray had told him that.

How many times?

How many times had those words been swapped between them?

How many times had he shouted that phrase at Gray’s corpse, smashing his hands into his chest, screaming at him to get up?

Six set the helmet to the side, staring at the rest of the armor.

He could go back to sleep.

That’s probably what he should do.

But he was bad at doing what he was supposed to do. That’s why ONI put in him wetwork. That’s why ninety percent of his file was redacted. That’s why he’d been a lone wolf for so long after being pulled off his team. Pulled off.

He snorted.

The others were listed MIA. But a Spartan never dies.

He’d watched them all prove that little legend wrong.

He suited up.

The others were asleep. He’d made sure of that. But he also hadn’t let that lie. He could have chosen Emelie. They were on the same team break down, or Jorge, given how well the man seemed to handle situations like this. But he didn’t.

Something bout the fight the other day seemed to ensure that instead of walking out of his room and heading towards Emelie’s or Jorge’s or anywhere else, he took a left and headed to Kat’s. It was late. More early than late, but he knocked on the door as quiet as he could, stepping back and leaning against the wall.

His HUD lit up the hallway in dull shades of green, enough that he could see the door shift as it opened, Kat peeking out bleary eyed and a little confused before those dark blue eyes found him. She pursed her lips, making a small noise of protest before stepping out of her room.

His helmet afforded him the luxury of shamelessly perusing her attire.

Despite what his conscious tells him that, regardless of if she can see it or not, it’s shameful how his eyes catch on the tight spats that are hugging her thighs. It’s actually ridiculous how much effort it takes to keep his head level and haul his eyes up her frame to return to those dark blue eyes that in the darkness look just as deep and bottomless as the abyss he’s sure is his soul.

“Six?” She muttered, running a hand through her hair, and it’s only when his HUD pinged it as metal does he realize it’s the artificial one.

“Sorry.” He mumbled as he reached up, unclipping his helmet. He shook his hair out, unsure of where to start off the conversation that drove him out of bed so early.

“What’s…” She grumbled, pursing her lips before taking a step forward. Her hand curled around the collar of his armor, eyes narrowing suspiciously, “Did you do this just to see my nightwear?”

It’s a shameful comment. And one they both know is just an attempt to throw him off kilter.

“Fuck you.” He replied.

She wriggled an eyebrow at him before nodding her head down the hall. “I bet you’d like that.” She crossed her arms, expression going flat before she added. “But really, what’s this about Six?”

Six jerked his head down the hall, and upon her disapproving but not quite disgusted expression, headed down. They went up a flight of stairs before taking the roof access out to the top of the building. There wasn’t a moon out, but the stars in the sky illuminated the cold concrete of the roof all the same as Six headed to the edge.

Reach was a beautiful planet.

“I was on a previous team.” Six informed her.

“MIA?” She guessed.

He nodded, “Every one of them. I watched it you know. All of there…. Deaths.”

Kat cocked an eyebrow at her. “Any of them special?”

Six shrugged. “Gray died from plasma burns. Juliet sniped, needle through the…” He shook his head. “Not a pretty sight. Part of the reason I got a different helmet. Mason and Eric went together, held off a legion while Connor and I got EVAC’d. Connor… He died on the way back. Too much blood loss. Armor kept him moving up… There’s only so much you can do when you loose three limbs.”

Kat whistled, low and soft as she considered that. “I see…”

Six nodded, letting his hands swing before his thumbs caught on the waistline of his armor, hooking in the little magnetic locks that grenades usually rested. “Gray… Gray was my brother.”

“They kept you together?” She asked.

Six shrugged, “We were competitive, drove each other to do better, or out do the other. It was a high-risk- reward type. They decided we’d do better together, and any risk or damage accrued would be outweighed by the acceleration we put on each other.”

Kat hummed, nodding slowly as she took a spot beside him. He stood at the edge, eyes on the horizon as she sat down, letting her bare feet dangle over the edge.

“And what do you think?”

“I think if I didn’t know he had been my brother, I wouldn’t have been drafted for wetwork.”

“And?”

“Then I likely would have been assigned a normal team after… they went missing.” Six shrugged, glancing down at her. “And maybe I would be a different man.”

Kat hummed again, then got up. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re just fine Six.”

He was tempted to tell her that he wasn’t. He was tempted to tell her that he had moments where he was a barely restrained beast, enchanted by blood and held captive by violence. That in his fight with her, he’d been so caught up in the blood pounding through his veins and the burn of busted knuckles and the scent of spilt blood that the only reason hes topped was because she’d managed to fend him off long enough for him to slip up and get hit.

He was also tempted to ask is she knew that already.

If she was the same.

Instead he asked. “Do you ever wonder what would happen if you weren’t a Spartan?”

The question shocked her. He didn’t need enhanced hearing or even to look at her to know her head had snapped around, eyes narrowing in confusion as her lips trembled with a sputtered reply. Then she snorted. “I only wish we were more effective at slaughtering Covenant.”

Ah. Maybe she did have the same bloodlust that he did.

The smile split his lips as he turned to face her. “I suppose that’s the best weapons can hope for.” He agreed, cracking his neck as he headed back to the door.

Kat snorted, but didn’t reply.

They didn’t talk until Six had walked her back to her room, waiting by the door as she brushed off her feet and cracked the door back open.

“Was that it?” She asked tentatively, hesitating in the threshold. “You seemed…. Frazzled when you first came by.”

“Pondering life and death.” Six replied, left hand running over the lip of his helmet nervously as he considered her.

_Stand up. You’re not done yet._

Gray hadn’t stood up.

Maybe his brother had to do it for him instead.

“Goodnight Kat.” He said, leaving her standing in the doorway, her dark blue eyes furrowed as he meandered back down the hall. He slipped past his room, headed back to another familiar room. He knocked on the door.

“Emelie?” He called through the metal. “Up for a knife match?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I enjoy the character banter. I think SPARTANs are also a bit of a sad lot. And I think it’s important to make note of that.   
>  They weren’t made to be humans anymore. They were made to be weapons. And I think that while Six is different, partially due to my self-insertion of a brother character, and also due to me writing him, I think it’s important to have that…. Sarcastic cynicism.


	6. Hyper Lethal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random training exercise with a known Spartan II proves to Noble Team just who is hyper lethal in their group.   
> And all the ways that term applies.

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Six

**Hyper Lethal**

Six was halfway through casually enjoying a cup of Earl Gray when the intercom clicked on and Carter walked in.

“Noble Team, report to E-Bay for a training exercise.”

Six slowly sat up in his chair, reaching across the table and picking up his gauntlets. Carter locked eyes with him, his gaze slowly sliding away to land on the cup in Six’s off hand.

“Tea?”

“I will stab you.” The threat slid off Six’s tongue as light and easy as the action would be.

Carter blinked, cocking an eyebrow at him before turning to regard Kat and Emelie, who looked just as surprised at the comment. “Six are you…?”

“Tired as shit.” He informed his commander. He took a sip of tea. “Hence the tea.”

Carter gave him a long hard look before gesturing to the coffee pot on the table. “We… have… coffee…” He suggested awkwardly.

Six didn’t respond, just took another sip before setting his cup to the side and picking up his helmet. “I’ll meet you at E-Bay.” He walked out, shoving his helmet on and leaving the other three in the room bewildered.

Carter naturally turned his attention to Kat for an explanation.

She shrugged, “He woke me up last night, mentioned his old team. I’m not completely sure he slept last night.”

Emelie grunted. “Doubt it. He got me early this morning for a knife spar.” He pursed his lips suddenly, flexing his fingers. “The man’s vicious with a K-Bar.”

“He was a wetworker.” Kat stood up, picking up her helmet and heading for the door. “Could be why.” She hesitated, then added, “And he did watch his brother die,” as she swung out the door.

The journey to E-Bay was a quick 5-minute jog, and when she got there, she was not prepared to find Six already in the ring with another Spartan in stock green armor. She was also not prepared to find a Captain there.

“Sir.” She saluted, but the man simply nodding and waved for her to join him on the observing platform.

“John-117. The Master Chief, they call him.” The Captain informed her. “We wanted to see how he stacked up to Noble Team. But… Noble Six could be giving him a bit of trouble.

Kat cast her gaze down to E-Bay. She’d been expecting some sort of training exercise, but all it looked like as a fist fight.

Admittedly a fully armored fist fight, where ducked blows and blocked kicks cracked the concrete and demolished the roadblocks set up around the bay, but that was practically standard for SPARTAN’s. Kat crossed her arms, watching the two go at it.

It was…

Technical.

By the book.

There wasn’t an ounce of wasted movement between the both of them, even a flying triangle choke into an arm bar take down and Chief broke out of it. They rolled away, Six getting to his feet faster, but Chief acting first out of the two of them. He’d rolled after Six, and once the Spartan-III got his feet underneath them, swept them back out from under him.

Six dropped, come down with an elbow that shattered the concrete as Chief rolled out of the way.

It came as a shock to Kat when they both broke away, sprinting the distance of the Bay and snatch up, not any of the firearms on the floor, but two knives. Six sprang off a barrier, come down hard. Chief rose to meet him, but met nothing as Six dropped, landing at the last minute and sweeping around with the blade.

It was… feral.

Breathtakingly feral how determined the two were to kill the other.

“Are we sure this is training?” the Captain asked after a moment. “I know Spartan’s are a…. different breed but…” he gestured at the pair, watching with some interest as Six seemed to get the upper hand, a handful of scratches on Chief’s pauldron the fruit of his efforts, “ I can’t quite tell if this is just an exercise or if they’re actively on the war path.”

“All within exercise limits Captain Keyes,” Carter assured, sweeping through the door and joining Kat. “Noble Six specializes in CQC, along with our other specialist on the team. The two already warmed up for the day, so it looks like Six is pulling out some of his more intricate techniques.”

Kat would have called Carter out as a liar, but her attention was momentarily distracted as Chief’s knife went flying into the air. Six slapped the blade away but didn’t rush as he cornered the Chief. The two squared up, and in what Kat could only call _luck_ , Six tripped, giving Chief time to vault a nearby barrier, smashing the corner of it off and pelting Six with the debris.

Six didn’t falter, letting his armor take the assault, but he did leap away as the Chief leveled a DMR at him. He fired three times, and Kat only saw two hits, both sparking off Six’s armor before the Spartan-III got behind cover.

“Live fire?” Kat asked.

“Authorized.” Carter assured her, matching her stance as he crossed his arms. “We’re all to be sparring with him before the end of the day.”

“And Six is going first?”

Carter nodded again. “He was the first to arrive it seems. And the Chief didn’t feel inclined to wait.”

Kat grunted, returning her gaze to the screen. Six was flanking. Chief was refusing to be flanked, but that didn’t really matter when Six’s hands landed on a rocket launcher. As soon as he had it, he pivoted and fired, the tube belching out a pair of rockets. Chief dove away, the concrete barrier insufficient as cover.

The rockets vaporized the barrier, and if either of the Spartans cared about it, they didn’t show it. Another set of rockets crossed the Bay, sending Chief scrambling out into the open. Six was on him, no weapons but the knife in his hand, despite the shotgun he had found and strapped to his back.

“Noble Six seems inclined to keep this to a knife fight.” Keyes muttered, bringing one hand up to thumb his chin.

“Six is a CQC.” Carter replied, unphased as he watched Six strip Chief of his weapons in three lethal movements of the knife.

The shotgun slid free and Kat wondered if he’d ever been taught the proper way to hold it. He held it like a bat with a trigger, looking like he had no thoughts to aiming it. Chief shuffled, then stepped in, combatting Six’s knife carefully, with open palms and hair-thin dodges. Until Six brought the shotgun into the equation, not as a bat, but as a weapon.

He spun, letting the barrel trail behind as he dodged Chief’s kick. Then he fired, buckshot commandeering the occupied space. Chief miraculously ducked it, legs skidding out wide as he dropped. Six spun, hand sliding up effortlessly as he chambered another shell, and it occurred to Kat that she’d never seen a Spartan dance, but she imagined it looked quite similar to what he was doing now.

Chief was in no mood to play though, and he snatched up his fallen DMR, leveling it and firing on Six even as the CQC danced towards him, twisting between the bullets and advancing. Kat almost missed the subtle throw that sent Six’s knife through the air, lost somewhere between a somersault and a quarter spin between bullets.

It slapped against Chief’s visor; but it gave the man pause, and apparently that was what Six had been going for.

The DMR faltered as one hand snatched the knife up, but before Chief could return it, Six had taken two steps forward and leveled the shotgun up to Chief’s chest.

“Did he just-“

Carter whistled. “I think he did.”

“He’s out.” Emelie replied from the other side of the room. “It’s a bluff. He ran out of shells a long time ago.”

The Chief reached out, calm as could be as he eased the barrel away. Six let him. There was a tense moment, as if both were unsure how to progress. Chief could fire the DMR. Or Six could maneuver away.

Instead it was Captain Keyes that interrupted them, leaning forward as he cued the intercom. “Good match Spartans. Master Chief, would you be willing to continue with another of the Noble Team?”

Six and Chief stared at each other, neither visor betraying anything before Six abruptly turned and walked away. There was an awkward silence as Six made his way to the door and through it, the sound of it opening and closing punctuating the silence.

“Not if they’re all like that.” A deep gruff voice replied.

Captain Keyes chuckled, “We’ll see.”

“Send in the next one then Captain.”

Captain Keyes turned to Carter. “Who’s next?”

* * *

_Six sparred against **that thing** , and came out not only even, but almost better? _The thought was almost too hard to even conceive in the back of her mind.

Carter had lasted a minute, refusing to engage in close combat had cost him, and Chief had taken him down neat and tidy, knocking out his shield in thirty seconds.

Emelie had been the longest, the CQC specialist refusing to back out of Chief’s space or give him any room to counter. But Chief must have picked up something from Six, or had simply warmed up, because the fight was more of a stone wall. Chief didn’t give ground, only took it, slapping the blades out of Emelie’s hands and forcing him to engage in a boxing match that had left him out cold on the floor.

Jun barely made it in the room after challenging him to a sniping match. A trio of bullets shattered the concrete behind Jun’s head almost as soon as he walked into the bay. Jun simply turned and walked back out, and when he took off his helmet, he was white as a ghost.

She didn’t even want to consider her match with him. Started off normal until her Battle Rifle had gone dry. Then it was like a bad game of Kat and Mouse, alternating between straight out running from him, and slipping around his guard to try and get an edge on him.

It truly wasn’t fair.

He was built, tall and strong like Jorge, but with all of the speed and slickness that she’d gotten used to being the only one having. It made her wonder.

It made her wonder how Six kept up. He was a Spartan-III, while Chief had been listed as a Spartan-II. II’s were superior to III’s, III’s were just…. Fodder. Enhanced fodder. Designed for a singular purpose and for a stop gap.

Spartan II’s were the saviors, the heros, the can’t-kill-me-because-even-death-is-scared-to-look-me-in-the-eyes, they were the walking monsters of death.

And Six had…. Kept up.

He’d done more than that. If he’d had one more shell, he would have won. He would have beaten a Spartan-II.

Kat wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

She wasn’t sure how she felt about him rounding a corner, grabbing her arm and slamming her up against a wall either, but she was fairly sure that it leaned towards aggression and violence.

He’d caught her off guard, her mind focused on reevaluating the fight instead of where she was going or who she was running into. He looked…. Off. The green light in his eyes burned a fiercer than usual, instead of a bright unnatural glow they look sharper, more sinister and… angry.

“Six?” She asked, bionic arm reaching up, squeezing his wrist. “What’s this about?”

He stared at her for a moment, green eyes like emerald fire, before he just as abruptly turned away, taking a step back and nearly heading back down the hall. “What did you think of my fight?” He asked.

“Rough.” She replied, feeling the lie slid off her tongue, smooth as silk.

He glanced back at her, the normal swagger in his step returned, the fire in his eyes dulled to a strange little flicker of mischief. “Don’t lie. Your tone changes and your eyes shift.”

Or so she thought…

She pursed her lips. “Fast. Deadly. I can see why you’re labeled hyper-lethal in your files. How’d you use the shotgun like that?”

“Practice.” He replied. “Automatics jam, but pumps are faultless as long as you can work it. Add in something to keep the gun moving, steps, hands, fists, something to catch the pump as you move, and you can figure it out.” He said that like he hadn’t been spinning a ten-pound weapon around his waist, firing, pumping, and advancing on a Spartan-II all at the same time.

“Right.” She muttered. “I’m sure that’s somewhere in our combat book.”

“I picked it up from Eric.” Six replied pointedly, letting that branch of conversation disappear.

“And the rest?”

“Wetwork isn’t always clean work. You improvise. You adapt. You get the job done. Because if you can’t, lots of people die.” Six replied, leaning back against the wall, looking anything but comfortable.

She stared at him, watched the tension build in his shoulders before she reached out, dropping a hand on one. “Relax.” She flashed him a half smile. “You little bitch.”

The insult made him snort, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes as he shrugged and turned away. “Alright. Alright.” He nodded his head, then shrugged his shoulders before saying. “I don’t know if I like being just a weapon.”

“You seemed to be a pretty effective on in the Bay.” She shot back, wondering where this was going.

Six snorted. “I’m a one man army until someone shoots me. I can wreck covenant soldiers as long as they’re standing still, but a needler can ruin me, a fuel rod cannon doesn’t need more than one shot. That’s the issue Kat. We’re glass cannons. Destructive, murderous, but the covenant pop on little hole in us and we’re suddenly bleeding out on the floor.”

Kat pursed her lips, expecting to find fear in his eyes. But all she found was frustration. He wasn’t scared. He was angry. Furious. Maybe that’s why he fought like he did. Like an animal. Feral. Vicious. Deadly.

“And what do you want?”

Six shrugged haplessly. “Lots of things.” He glanced at her, then looked away. “Lots of things.” He reiterated, as if that covered it.

“Such as?”

He shrugged again. “The war to end. To know my parents. To grow up with my brother.” He snorted. “To get a good night’s sleep. Kiss a girl. Know what normal hormones feel like.” He rolled his eyes at that one. “To belong some other place than the battlefield.”

She wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. That wasn’t…. that wasn’t… a thought she felt like she could entertain anymore. She gave up her humanity to murder the bastards that stole it in the first place. She didn’t… she couldn’t…

She shook her head. “We’re Spartans Six. We are human. Just a little bit more.”

He pursed his lips, looking anything but satisfied by that answer. “Or a little bit less.” He shot back, marching off down the hall.


	7. Jorge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting on in-game deaths now.   
> Enjoy.

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Seven

**Jorge**

Six had always known that Jorge was stronger than him. He had known that practically as soon as he walked through the doors and joined Noble Team.

He’d treasured that little difference. That skill, that muscle that allowed Jorge to shrug off blows that would have left him crippled, bones cracked, lungs punctured, armor broken. He’d enjoyed the combat that had Jorge standing at the forefront, armor and shield impenetrable as he annihilated everything in front of him with that lovely little minigun he carried around like it weighed nothing.

He’d love having a heavy on his team that didn’t remind him of Connor, quiet and stoic and just a little bit off.

He liked knowing there was a Spartan that could laugh like Jorge did.

Jorge dropped him.

Like a hot frag grenade.

Like a discarded wrapper.

The man just squeezed his hand, locked it tight in his grip and _lifted_ Six, suit and all up and carried him out the hangar and threw him over the edge.

IT was unbelievable.

“Jorge!” Six roared the name into the comms. Static was his response.

“Jorge you son of a bitch answer me!”

He was falling. Flailing around in the air with nothing but vacuum and death to support him. He couldn’t stop it. He had a re-entry pack, but he had nothing to stop him, nothing to bring him back up to the carrier. Nothing to get him anywhere near Jorge so he could drag the big brute out.

He squeezed; fingers tangled tight around the chain that held his dog tags.

Jorge’s tags.

He watched the carrier dock, the fizzle as the bomb ignited. He could feel his back heating up as gravity and air fractioned reminded him just how far he had to fall.

He didn’t deploy it, wanting to scar his mind with Jorge’s final moment.

It was….

Unreal.

A wave, a sphere of destruction as metal, alien, organics, everything just…. Vanished. The edges of the ship were superheated, glowing white as the structure crumbled apart. He saw the shockwave coming, wondering if it would knock him out cold. He better deploy.

He reached around, swatting the re-entry packs handles and ripping it open. His eyes caught something twinkling in the darkness of space.

A chill ran through his veins, not unlike the anesthesia when he’d undergone his treatment. But infinitely more ominous as another cluster of sparks lit up the void.

He recognized the ship designs. He recognized the curve, the sleek alien design. The smooth transition as they jumped from slip-space into reality. But all he could do was scream into the void, frustration and anger boiling off him as the shockwave hit him.

It sent him tumbling down towards Earth, infinitely faster than gravity ever could. His head ached; eyes unable to focus on anything but the look of determination in Jorge’s eyes as he shoved him out of the hanger.

He’d been saving Reach. He had saved Reach.

His hand clenched, the metal of Jorge’s dog tags biting into his palms as something cold and vicious settled Six’s gut. His eyes turned to the ground just in time to see it coming up.

He really hoped this reentry package worked.

If not. He really hoped he landed on something Covenant.

* * *

He didn’t wake up so much as realize he wasn’t dead.

His body wasn’t too happy about that revelation either.

Scrap metal was still raining down from the sky, parts of the supercarrier burning up as they entered the atmosphere. His eyes trailed up, noting the other carriers and corvettes passing by. He hoped Jorge hadn’t seen them.

He hoped Jorge died thinking he saved Reach.

He hoped Jorge died thinking he’d won it for them.

He sat up, bones creaking, muscles burning as he forced his body to move. The suit helped, propelling his stiff and sore limbs around as he sat up. The reentry package had kept him alive, but the shockwave had made it anything but pleasant.

He shook his hands out, feeling the kinks in his arms, the grating of bone on bone. He must have fractured something in his hand. He flexed, feeling the pinky protest. Ah. The reason dangled neatly off his fingers; the chain wrapped awkwardly around his last digit.

Jorge’s dog tags.

They must have caught something and snapped it somehow.

Six wedged his legs underneath him, feeling his hips creak as he forced his body to support his weight. Pain radiated up his leg, but he ignored it as he put one foot in front of the other. He stumbled and caught himself on a nearby rock, nearly bent double over it as bile rose in his throat.

He barely had time to rip his helmet off before it was spilling out of his mouth and nose. Everything that had been in his stomach, and more than just a little blood. It startled him but didn’t shock him. He’d survived a slip-space bomb. Falling from the lower atmosphere, and somehow landed between all the supercarrier wreckage. It was more of a miracle he didn’t have something impaled in his chest.

He wiped his mouth, shakily bringing the dog tags up to lay around his neck. They clinked as they joined his own, seeming to happily join each other under his collar.

Jorge wouldn’t be forgotten.

Six straightened up, gathered up the vomit in the corners of his mouth before spitting once more. He had a fight to get to. If the Covenant had brought in another fleet, he had to join up with the rest of Noble and help them evacuate. There wasn’t enough time to mourn Jorge.

He was a Spartan.

He knew what it meant to sacrifice.

He’d taken out an entire super carrier.

Six picked up his helmet, reading the inscription on the head.

_‘Stand up. You’re not done yet.’_

Six slapped it back on, radar pinging softly as it mapped out where he was. A new destination pigged on his HUD a moment later. New Alexandria.

Jorge had wanted to save the people. He’d died giving them the best possible opportunity.

The least Six could do was ensure they got out alive.

Six took off, pumping his legs as he forced his aching body to _run_. He had to get there in time. He had to.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he didn’t.


	8. Rage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six deals with the aftermath of Jorge's death, and the subsequent feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sliding in just one more piece about Six's emotional state before getting back to the tragedy of Reach's storyline

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Eight

**Rage**

Someone was screaming into the comms.

At least Six thought it was someone, until he realized his comms were muted, even from the Bullfrogs, and at it was his own voice, ringing around his helmet as he smashed his clenched fists into what might have once been a Brute’s face.

**His lungs burned.**

**His cheeks burned.**

He rose, legs shaking as they forced his body to rise.

“Do… do you think he’s alright?” A voice whispered behind him.

Six turned, startled to find two of the Bullfrogs, he didn’t catch nor care to remember their names, staring at him. Wide-eyed and fearful as their gazes drifted from his form to his hands, and then lower, to the body.

Neither answered the question, and it wasn’t one Six knew how to answer either. So, he reached down, hands shaking slightly as he picked up the Brute’s weapon, a Spiker. Had he picked up a firearm today? He couldn’t remember. He’d run out of ammo for an assault rifle earlier this morning. That might have been the last time.

The rest of his day had been a smattering of blood and red and…. a haze of emotion.

Rage.

Hurt.

Betrayal.

Anger.

Emotions he didn’t know how to answer.

How to deal with.

They didn’t train him for this.

Six shrugged his shoulders, feeling the muscles hiss and protest with tension. They were tight. They hurt. He was bleeding somewhere.

It didn’t hurt.

And he didn’t care.

Jorge was…

Six broke off in a quick jog, leaving the Bullfrogs behind as he rushed down the tight corridors of New Alexandria. He let the drum of his own footsteps match the frantic beating of his own heart.

**Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump**

A Chieftain walked around the corner, barely having enough time to spot Six before the Spartan reacted.

The jetpack Six had on whined to life, and his jog jolted into a sprint as Six lept forward, hands wrapping around the Brute’s neck, locking tight as his coiled his body up. Momentum took them forward and into the ground, but Six planted his feet on the Brute’s own body.

He was screaming again, vision blurred some shade of dark and death as he heaved, muscles burning, chest screaming for air and he **pulled**. Flesh tore, blood spurt out, splattering Six’s body as he ripped the Brute’s head from its shoulders.

Six’s lungs demanded air, and he let them heave, let them relish the oxygen filling him as he turned, looking down the corridor the Chieftain had come from.

Two more Brutes stood awkwardly, nearly a dozen feet away. Transfixed by the sight of a SPARTAN standing, holding the still warm, dripping head of their Chieftain.

Six felt his heart thump, blood burning through his veins before quenching, filling his body with an ice-cold **thing** that demanded blood. He stepped off the Chieftain’s chest. Had he dropped the Spiker?

Must have.

His hand slide down his thigh, sliding his knife out of it’s holster. He twirled it, fingers curling around it in a tight grip as he took a step forward. The Brutes charged, muscle and rage overruling survival instincts.

Six threw his knife.

The steel flashed in the light of the sun, razor sharp blade biting through thick hide.

The lead Brute stumbled, hands going to its throat to pull the knife out.

Six didn’t let it, surging forward and slamming his palm into the hilt. The steel pushed through, blood hissed out, and the Brute dropped to its knees. Six kicked it back, and the second filled it’s place.

A Spike in its hands. Leveled and ready.

Six kicked, instinct alone keeping him alive as the Brute squeezed the trigger. A smattering of spike soaked into his shield before Six’s foot made contact. Bone snapped, and the Brute roared. He threw the weapon at Six’s head.

The blade sparked off his helmet as Six rotated, spinning the snap-kick into a roundhouse hard enough that his shin protested when it slapped against the Brute’s neck.

The kick didn’t kill it.

Six jerked his leg back, but meaty paws clasped over halting him. He swung, right fist catching the Brute in the jaw. His pinky snapped, bone grating before he swung again, his left knocking its head back. Then Six’s world was a blur of light and texture as the Brute swung him around.

His head met steel, whooshing through the air before it smashed into the corner of the hallway, carving its way through the steel, concrete, rebar and back out as the Brute swung him. It threw him, and Six tumbled down the hall, coming to a halt on the Carbiner Brute’s body.

Thick blood stuck to his armor, and Six tried to focus not on the blurry pain of his head, or the blood in his mouth. He felt the heat in his chest still, the burn at his collar where Jorge’s tags met his, resting on his collarbone.

He wheezed out a breath, tilting his head up. The Brute was charging down the hall.

He sat up, fingers grasping along the body. The Brute roared, feet stomping across the metal flooring. He was getting close.

Six’s hand found the knife.

He launched himself off the corpse, surging to a stand and then jumping forward as the Brute closed. The knife clenched tight in his fist.

He swung, cruel satisfaction burning through him as the blade carved through beady eyes, cartilage and back through the other eye. Then momentum took the Brute into Six’s chest, though sight caused it to steer to one side, pinning him up against the wall.

The knife clattered out of Six’s hands.

He didn’t care.

He laughed, fist smashing into the Brute’s mauled eyesocket as its own fist slammed into his side. He gritted his teeth, feeling his ribs crack and creak at the blow. He returned it with another punch, bone shattering at his punch.

His laughter and the roar of his heart in his ears pounded through his head.

He didn’t care when his ribs broke.

He didn’t care when another of his fingers snapped as he plunged them into ruined eyesockets.

He didn’t care when the punches turned into slaps and howls of pain as he pulled.

He didn’t care when bone snapped, his wrist shifted, and the Brute stopped moving.

He didn’t care.

Jorge was dead.

That’s what he cared about.

His laughter turned into screaming.

“Sir?”

Six jerked, startled out of his stupor as he turned to the voice. One of the Bullfrogs, tentatively looking from Six to the dead Brute below him.

Six blinked, shaking his head before looking down at his hands. He couldn’t tell the color of his own armor under all the gore. Under the thick sticky blood that coated it, seeping into the nooks and cranies. He shook his hands out, grimacing as his wrist popped and clicked.

Six turned, letting his fingers relax enough for the shard of bone to slip from his grip. It clicked and clattered on the hard metal floors, rattling to a stop as Six and the Bullfrog stared at each other.

“What’s wrong?”

Six swallowed. His gaze slowly swiveled to the Brute in front of him. It was sloppy.

He had killed it sloppy. Like a beast hunting prey. Like a predator on the hunt, enjoying inflicting as much pain as possible before the prey just gave up and accepted it. Like an animal.

“One of my….” Six hesitated, the word on the tip of his tongue. The memory of Jorge’s laugh in the back of his mind. The laughter, the snark, the honesty in his eyes. But he couldn’t use that word. He couldn’t say it, because then it would be more than what Six had wanted to allow. “teammates…” He finished instead.

“I understand.” The Bullfrog muttered. “We’ve lost a lot of people.”

Six nodded, feeling like the words just weren’t…. weren’t enough. “He….” died. Jorge died… “thinking he saved Reach.” He couldn’t say the word. Died. That would make it real.

That would mean Jorge really had…

And Six couldn’t do anything about it.

He found the Bullfrog’s hand on his shoulder and stared at it with confusion.

“He was a friend then. A damn good friend.”

Friend.

The word left Six’s mouth dry.

He swallowed again and nodded. “I…”

“And your friend would want you to get out of this alive I think.” The Bullfrog added suddenly, something stern in his expression. “And out of everyone here. You are the one that matters.” He thrust a fully loaded DMR into Six’s hands. “So, if it’s alright with you, I think you need to keep the carnage contained to bullet holes and kill shots, instead of.” He turned, gaze falling on the Chieftain’s head, before panning over to the other two mutilated bodies. “That....”

Six nodded, wondering when he’d fallen low enough that he’d allow a Marine to talk to him like that. He straightened up, shaking out his limbs before looking at the Marine again. He towered over the man. But Six decided then to extend a curtesy he hadn’t given another non-Spartan before.

“What’s your name?” Six asked.

The man blinked, then nodded. “Terry, sir. Terry McClain.”

“You can call me Six. I’ve got your men’s back. Let’s get them out of this alive today.” Six shouldered the DMR, ignoring the ache in his hands and the sharp pain in his chest. “I’ll make sure of that.”


	9. Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate's Death  
> Minor changes from the game to this scene.

**Beneath the Helmet**

**Chapter Nine**

**Kat**

Six hadn't even seen it coming. One moment he's helping Kat into the bird. The next-she's dead weight in his arms and the last clear image he sees is the dark red splattered across the hole in her visor.

There's a moment of hesitation. A moment of shock and fear and - _what just happened-_ before Six is moving, easing Kats body down to the floor and in one fluid motion ripping the battle rifle out of Carter's hands. He wheeled on the Phantom, sighting and firing.

Two out of three shots hit the Elites shield before it ducks back inside.

He's two seconds away from stepping out and using pure rage and determination to carry him through the air so he could rip the Elite limb from limb, but Emelie's arm around his waist stops him from defying gravity.

"Six!"

He surges forward another step, half a boot hanging free off the loading ramp as he ventures for another shot.

"Noble Six!" Carter barks, and it makes his back go rigid and his boiling blood go quiet.

Six eases back a step, turning around to face the reality.

To face Kat.

Or.

His gaze trickles it way down, from the haggard walls of the pelicans bay to Carter's slouched and defeated frame. Then lower, to the body lying on the floor.

Something rises up in his stomach, catching in his throat and burning. He eases his helmet off, fingers just barely gripping the metal as he crouches down, one hand rising to cover his mouth.

"Six, man, it's-"

He shakes his head, feeling the burning in his eyes, the bile in his throat.

"Don't." The word come out hoarse, like his throat had been hollowed out by plasma fire.

"Man look it's-" Emelie starts again.

"Don't!" The words peel out of Six's lips, with all the bark of a Scorpion's main gun.

Emelie snaps his mouth closed with an audible click.

Six feels the helmet drop from his hands, hears it clunk sharply on the metal hull. He's even aware of Carter bending down, picking it up.

But he can't feel it.

He can't feel the blood pumping through his veins, keeping his body warm.

He can't feel the emotions burning through his mind, where rage and hate and anger should be.

He can't feel the fire burning in his chest, the steady light that made him want to hunt, to kill, to…

He just feels cold.

Carter squeezes his shoulder, and it's more curiosity than anything else that makes Six look up, finding his leader staring down at him, Kat's tags hanging from his neck.

"We all knew the cost of the mission. It was an error. Situational awareness. Just means we need to be better." Carter mutters.

Six knows that Carter's giving the leader response.

The tactical response.

The Spartan Response.

The- no-feelings-no-emotion-we-have-a-mission-that's-all.

It's what he should be giving.

One of his teammates is dead. That lowers their mission completion chance. That's all that matters.

But it doesn't.

His voice is boiling out of his throat before he realizes he's already turning on Carter, helmet left forgotten on the Pelican floor as he tackles the man into the wall. SIx can hear Emelie shouting, but all he can feel is the satisfying _crack_ as his fist slams into Carter's ribs, armor crunching, metal grinding on metal.

Then Carter's fist in in his face, gauntlet tearing skin, metal scrapping away soft flesh.

Pain blossoms anew, and it's hard, and warm, but it's better than being cold.

Six punches him again, letting Carter gain the advantage as it's blocked, and Six's hand restrained. So he kicks him, stomping down on Carter's foot. The metal hull of the Pelican shreecks it's protests, but can't withstand the force, and instead swallows the booted feet, bent and cracked around them.

Six doesn't really care if his ankle is outside, he just cares that it's kept him and Carter in the same space.

"She's dead!" The words slid out of his mouth like a whisper as his fist thruds against Carter's palm.

"I know."

"Not a marine! A Spartan!" His fist hit's Carter's other palm.

Emelie's arms wrap around him, putting him in a full-Nelson hold as he heaves him out of the floor. Six struggles, but the strength to really fight bleeds out of him.

"I know."

"Kat is dead!"

"I know!" Finally Carter barks, but there's not bite behind it, no follow up, just the sad-angry look he gives Six before dropping down to the bench.

Six stares at him, letting Emelie man-handle him into a seat next to Kat, unable to resist, unable to find the muscle to protest, or the will to fight back, or even just the bones to support his own weight. He flops into the seat like a sack of potatoes.

"Jorge is too." The words slide out of Six's lips just as softly as the first set.

"Yeah."

Six swallows the bile that's been sitting in his throat, pulling his hands up to set his palms into his eye sockets, kneading them for a moment before dragging them down his face in an effort to wipe the emotion out of it.

"How many more?" He asks.

"Until the mission is complete." Carter replies, but the man isn't able to meet Six's eyes. He's staring out the back of the Pelican, where the doors closed. He's staring at the little hole in the floor, faintly marked by red and pink.

Where the needle sparked through the floor.

Where Kat's body had hit.

Where Noble Two died.

Where Carter's best friend left him.

Where whatever fluttering feeling in Six's chest, mingling thoughts of after the war, settling, after blood and war and sacrifice and suffering, where thoughts of after, lived.

That spot.

That bloody pink and red spot.

That was where that feeling died.

And in it's wake Six only felt the cold bite of what he now knew to be sorrow.


	10. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He thinks he keeps seeing her. Out of the corner of his eye....  
> A tickle in his brain where she should be.

He thought he kept seeing her.

A shadow in the Pelican. A ghost in the dark.

A flash of blue in the corner of his eye when he turned.

The soft press of her hand on his shoulder.

He even thought that he'd heard her over the comms, a soft snort as Carter gave an order. He'd heard half the order, and none of what followed, mind too caught up in digesting the sweet chime of her voice, the gentle ring it left in his ears. The little hum she sometimes placed at the end of her sentence, either out of displeasure or amusement, but it entranced him all the same.

Fuck. Was this how humans felt?

Emotion.

Feelings.

His heart wanted to stutter when those things happened. His chest heaved and he had to take deep breaths to relieve the pressure.

He'd caught himself looking for her.

In combat.

Around the buildings.

Her usual spots.

Dark and quiet, out of the way where she'd pick off targets.

"Six. Tighten up." Six knows that Emelie's voice is clear in the coms. It still sounds muffled, far off and reverberating through oceans of water to his ears.

"Sorry." He murmurs the word, a flash of shame bursting to life in his chest as the word, foreign and unwelcome, tussles with his nature. Spartan's don't say sorry.

Emelie just gives him a look, choosing not to mention the sluggish way he's responding, the non-committal remarks and pointed silence. He just shoulders his shotgun, shrugging once to get it to align nicely before taking off at a brisk jog down the road.

Their final goal was up ahead.

It had only cost Noble Team half their members.

* * *

His lungs were spasming. Shaking in his chest like a caged dog, fighting to rip free from his rib cage. To tear away the enhanced bone, carve a path through the steel-cable muscle, and blast a hole through his MJOLNIR armor just to let the shaky howl of pain out.

He swallows.

Bile burns the back of his throat, like his stomach wants to do that same as his lungs, claw it's way up his esophagus and puke itself onto the ground in front of him.

He doesn't know what else to do. So he brings his fist out, curls his armored fingers into a battering ram of a fist and slams it into his gut as hard as he can.

His lungs seize, his stomach flinches and his eyes water. But it stops the urge to puke. The burn in the back of his eyes.

It lets him pull his head up, off the metal platform to look at the bright orange burn of the engines of the _Pillar of Autumn._

It lets him stop looking at Emelie's body, only a handful of meters away, still slowly oozing blood onto the metal walkway. Six doesn't know how he feels about that.

His next breath is shaky.

His lungs don't want to adopt a rhythm.

His brain sparks, idly noting the bodycount, the lack of tabs in the commlink for Noble Team's secure link. A dozen of other useless chunks of information buzzing around his head go silent at that, settling on the silent commlink.

Noble Team.

Jorge…

Kat…

Emelie…

Carter…

His knees slam against the metal walkway, surgically enhanced muscles unable to bear the weight that dropped onto his shoulders. The bile returns, sharper than ever, and it's barely in his capabilities to rip his helmet off before it's slipping out of his clenched teeth.

There's not much there.

He hadn't eaten a thing. Hadn't manage to stomach anything but water since Kat-

The sound in his chest finally breaks free, and Six learns that sobbing isn't a learn expression, but something people instinctively know how to do.

And the sound…

Like a puncture lung, air bubbling out of a bleeding chest wound. But Six couldn't find the strength in him to bottle the noise up. He let it ripple out of him, the pressure easing off his shoulders as he collapsed, emotion and pain finally being allowed to exist in reality as opposed to his mind.

He let the sun burn against the back of his neck as he… as he… cried. He couldn't think of another word to use, anything more 'Spartan', because that was the only thing he could relate to. He was crying. Tears spilling out of he eyes, snot dripping out of his nose and the only other thing he felt was sick.

He never understood why marines and ODST would make the effort to cry. Waste tears and the energy to expel them on a body that kept them alive, or over someone else that wasn't them. He could remember seeing them, curled up, clutching pictures or themselves and whispering the fallen's name.

Over and over again as if it would bring them back.

Had he done that over Gray?

Had he bothered to mourn his older brother?

And yet here he was, unable to move, struggling to breathe over a team he'd spent a fraction of the time with.

He's so wrapped up in the air squeezing out of his throat and the hot shame of guilt surging through his brain he didn't hear the Elite come up until it's thick foot slams into his chest and sends him flipping across the platform and into the railing.

The metal protests, shrieking as Six's weight threatens to break it. Gravity saves them both, letting the guard rail keep existing and assuring Six he's still alive by slapping his face into the metal floorboard.

The groan slips out of his mouth, along with a lazy drip of blood and spit. He cocks his head slowly, measuring up the red Elite that doesn't advance, just stares at him. Two more are behind it. Blue and a Gold. The Red turns his attention to Emelie, beady eyes narrowing as he examined the corpse.

Six watches. Tired green eyes simply staring at the Elite as it marches over to Emelie. The Elite bends down, hand grasping Emelie's collar as it hauls the body up. It's mandibles click, a soft 'wort wort woorot' coming from it's muzzle.

Six can't move.

It's free hand falls upon the hilt of an energy sword the same time the Blue approaches Six. A plasma rifle glows in his face, but his eyes are focused on the movement of the Red. The buzz as the plasma sword sparks to life.

Six is moving before he realizes his body has the energy to.

One hand slaps the rifle away, the other peeling a plasma grenade off the Blue's hip holster. It's ignited and thrown at the Gold in a fluid movement as Six dives, covering the meter or two that separates him and the Red.

His knife is gone.

Soz he rips the Kukri out of the Emelie's last kill, sticky blood clinging to the steel as Six slams it into the Red's hip. It staggers, surprise morphing through it's features. The plasma sword turns to Six, and Emelie's body drops to the ground.

Lifeless.

Without any resistance as gravity and momentum take control, and he crumples up, legs bent uncomfortably, head tilted to the side.

The blood roars in Six's ear, demanding vengeance.

He tackles the Red.

In a weight battle he shouldn't have won, but he bears the alien to the ground anyway, his hands invading as they clamp on the mandibles. It's frantic, disorganized as Six heaves, ears ringing, skull pounding. Flesh tears. Bone splinters. They come free. His hands go back for more flesh.

Tearing.

Ripping.

Punching.

He's screaming again.

Rage and agony burning out of his throat. He's feral. More beast than human at this point. But he can't bring himself to give a damn because _they're dead._ So he lashes out with all he has. Tooth and claw.

His jaw tightens down and whatever monster he'd locked away opened the door. He doesn't fully process what he does next.

The Red dies.

Six finds himself straddling the corpse. Meat in his mouth, warm and cold at the same time. It tastes off. Sweet instead of tangy with iron.

His legs shake as he eases his body to a standing position, turning to the Blue and the Gold.

The Blue is shaking, hand clamped down on its rifle, shoving it out at him. It's other hand grips the railing, supporting itself shakily. The Gold isn't much better in that regard. Six spit out the bloody chuck of flesh, still feeling it on his tongue.

One word pronounces itself. Claiming air and space in Six's mind.

"Demon!"

Distorted and garbled from alien mouths. A twisted grin blooms across Six's lips, even as blue blood drips off them, tainting his armor.

The Gold has a sword out, staring at him hard.

There's reluctance in his stance. A shade of fear.

Six bends down, fingers curling around the knife in the Red's hip. He tears it out, blood spurting onto his gauntlet and boot. He spins it but doesn't adopt a stance as he advances.

"I'm no demon." He snarls. "I'm your fucking nightmare."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The most dangerous creation of any society is a man who has nothing left to lose – James Baldwin


	11. Done Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not done yet.  
> Not done yet.  
> Not done yet.....  
> Was he?

**Obligatory Trigger warning for suicide. We get dark in this chapter. I'll put an asterisk from where you can skip from and to. I'll center it. Thank you.**

Beneath the Helmet

Chapter Eleven

**Done**

He owns two pictures.

One is a picture of his old team. Him and his brother are standing in the front, matching features making armor colour the distinguishing factor. Gray's armor was blue. Six's armor as gray back then. Juliet stood by his side, maybe a bit closer than normal, like him and Kat perhaps. Mason and Eric were in the background, side-eyeing each other like they just had a fight. Connor stood between them; hands wrapped casually around their collars.

The second was of Noble.

They stood posed.

Kind of.

Carter and Kat in the front, serious with tight expressions. But Six could see the twitch in Carter's lips in the still. The glimpse of a smirk on Kat's as her eyes flicked back to look at the others, the whirl of the servos in her mechanical arm as she started flexed it. Jorge's face was split in a grin, teeth parted just a hair, like the photographer caught him before a belly laugh. Jun had his arms crossed, looking every shade of pissed off that he had to interrupt whatever precious time he had to join. He masked it was a smile, but his cheeks were still red, eyebrows still furrowed. Emelie looked ready to kill him too, hand easing up to rip one of the knifes out of his chest holster and sheath it in the closest part of Jun he could reach.

And then there was him.

Standing off to the side, more than a little awkward at parade rest. His hands folded neatly behind his back, helmet still on as opposed to the others. He looked out of place, not quite human but not quite machine. Out of place.

Something wet hit the photo.

Another droplet joined it shortly.

Six let his palms rise, pressing into his face to smother the tears back into his eyes. They refuse of course, but it was all he knew how to do. A shaky breath slips out of his lungs.

"I can't do this." He whispers to the darkness of the cave.

His voice pings around him, echoing back around the dark rock walls. He shakes his head, hand crumbling up the picture as he clenched it into a fist.

"ENOUGH!"

He swings at the darkness, blasting rock off the wall and sending bits of rock and sand into the air. His knuckles ache, tingling from the impact.

"I…I can't. I'm tired." The word leaves him empty. Like his chest had been hollowed out and the word had been the tool used to do it.

Tired.

A second word joins.

Alone.

"They're all gone." He rose, hand reaching for the wall for support. "Gray, Connor. Juliet and Mason. Eric…" He trails off, hand reaching for his collar. A half-dozen dog tags jangle in reply. He thumbs each one as he murmurs the new names.

"Emelie…" The metal is still slick, coated in blood, both red and blue. Emelie had gone out fighting, like a hero. Like a warrior. Like a SPARTAN.

"Carter…" His tag is bent, scorched and near broken, but he'd pulled it out of the wreckage, pulled Carter out to give him a proper burial. He'd saved Emelie and him, let them complete a mission that cost them everything.

"Kat…" Her tag is smooth. Untarnished. Clean and neat under his thumb. Like she'd died peacefully. Maybe because she had. There one moment, gone the next.

"Jorge." His tag's coated in a rusty brown, Six's own blood. There was nothing to indicate he'd gone out with the biggest bang possible. Nothing to commemorate the contribute that should have won them Reach.

His tag is last.

He knows by the feel.

Chipped and just a little bent, the chain keeping it with the others just a hair tarnished, the special coating unable to withstand all the dark damp environments his wetwork days put him through. His number on the top slot, followed by his name. His birth. His designation.

He thumbs the name. A name he's buried under a codename.

Bastion. Then Wolf. Then Six.

He'd hadn't heard it for years. Hadn't year the name uttered with attachment to him for so long it looked and felt foreign.

He mutters it softly, hearing the _S-_ transition to the stutter of an - _eb_ with the last familiar, military keeping the word straight where familiarity does not _-astian_.

It's close to Six. The transition from Wolf to Six had been easy.

"Sebastian." He repeats it, putting his name, not his number out into the dead world of Reach.

He feels like it should mean something.

He wants to believe that it means something after so long. After fighting so hard to achieve something, after the surgery and the training, the grueling pain of failure and strife. The battles that he survived by the skin of his teeth, the death of his brother, the funeral of his team. The blood that had coloured his hands red. The gift of a second chance. The blossom of something he might want to live for.

*****

It didn't mean anything.

He didn't mean anything.

The magnum slides into his hands from the side holster. Smooth and practiced just as his instructor taught him. Just as his brother helped train him. Just as Kat had done so many many times before her life was cut violently short.

He drops the magazine, catching it more out of habit than intention. Full. Hollowpoint. He reaches up, doing the clasps of his helmet mechanically before tossing it to the ground.

Everything was habitual.

He slams the mag home in the pistol. He chambers the next round, watching the bullet being fed into the chamber. He stares at it.

"I can't do it anymore." He mutters. "Gray…I … I cant get up anymore. I'm done."

The cave doesn't give a reply. The darkness doesn't recede. He doesn't feel a spark of hope or warmth in his chest. He just feels cold.

Cold and tired.

He lifts the barrel, setting it gently on the side of his head.

A perfect trigger pull only takes three muscles.

One.

His knuckles tighten, easing the tension out of the trigger.

Two.

His hand holds steady, locked in position as only training and practice would allow.

Three.

He hears the trigger click, the snap as the hammer dropped. The following bang as powder ignites.

He waits.

And waits.

*****

He opens his eyes and sees sapphire. A deep blue sapphire, and a pair of thin chapped lips that make every thought, every feeling, every tired and worn out muscle _burn_. He lunges, arms grasping for her waist. Chest longing to feel her flush against him in a way he'd never know a SPARTAN could want.

God, he could smell her.

Earthy and still with the hint of spent gunpowder. Something sweet in the background, maybe raspberries.

God, he wants to kiss her.

But his hand sweeps through her image. His eyes blur her crystal-clear face. The roar erupts out of his throat, not a sob, not a scream, maybe some blend of both as he throws the pistol through her. The effort leaving him gasping for air, huffing and puffing as she examines him, lips pressed thin with one eyebrow cocked.

"You left." He whispers into the silence. "You left and I couldn't follow. You left and I never had the chance to figure out what I felt about you." She smiles, and he can hear her soft hum fill the cave, low and accusing. "Why I feel a heat in my chest. Why I feel this pain when you walk away." He reachs for her, grasping at her hands but catching nothing but air. "Why I don't know how to talk to you some days." He hisses.

She smiles. Arms circling his neck as she either pulls herself up or hauls him down. He could feel her lips ghost the shell of his ear, the jolt of heat racing through his system before running down his spine and turning into a blazing trail.

 _You're not done yet,_ she whispers, lips brushing against his cheek.

"But I want to be." He replies. "I'm tired." His voice sounds broken. Like the soldiers he passed on the way to combat. Like the downtrodden marines that just returns from it. Like he's broken himself.

 _You're not done yet._ She repeats.

His HUD updates, and he can see the new read out even with it by his feet.

**Objective: Survive**

He stares at it, watches as in the background she faded softly, a smile on her lips. Words feel like syrup on his tongue, thick and awkward, but mostly difficult to swallow. He has dozens of different things he can say, more if he thought about it. But he settles on one as the crack of light shines through the cave.

"I miss you."

But she's already gone. Vanished into the thin air, leaving him alone in a cavern with a pistol that has one less round than he walked in with.

And an objective.

A new mission.

A task she trusted him with.

His HUD blinks as he picks his helmet back up. The visor reads ' _Survive'_ just as calmly as she'd said it. The inscription on the inside of his helmet hasn't changed. The same words stare back at him.

"You're not done yet." He murmurs the words, staring at them. He looks down, opening his hand, finding the crumpled-up picture of Noble Team. He slides it into the lining, accompanied by his original team. Neither fit perfectly, janky and with the edges hanging out as he slides it on, tickling his neck, it reminds him that he has people who got him here.

"I'm not done yet." He marches out of the cave, into the light, feeling eight hands clapping his back, and one pair of lips that doesn't exist mashing against his. It makes his head spin. It makes his heart throb for things that might have, _should have_ , been.


End file.
